


So you wanna play with magic? Boy, you should know what you're falling for

by louisdeepthroating



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fairy Tale Retellings, Fantasy, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Magic, Mpreg, Mpreg Louis, Niall is a lepruchan, No Smut, Police Officer Harry, Robin Hood - Freeform, Time Travel, actually Liam is Robin Hood, at least in this story, kinda feminine Louis, male pregnancy is normal, mentions of mpreg, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-24 04:08:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2567654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louisdeepthroating/pseuds/louisdeepthroating
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a date-turned-wrong ends in vandalism and a trip to the police station, Louis is drowning in an ocean of trouble, and he doesn't know how to get out of it.<br/>Enter Perrie Edwards, who is a fair godmother - not good enough to be a fairy godmother - .</p><p>When she pushes Louis to make his first wish everything goes wrong and it's the start of a chain reaction that may or may not be good for Louis. </p><p>There's Liam "Robin Hood" Payne and his Merry Men (a.k.a. runaway bandits and the city's most wanted criminals) and Rumpelstiltskin in the mix, as well as Harry, the police chief's beautiful and smart son (who may or may not be into Louis).<br/>In this one heck of a fairytale, not everything is what it seems, and Louis must learn the moral of his story before he can ever have hope of getting himself and his family safely home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story isn't mine, it was written by Janette Rallison's

Nick’s text message to me was short: “I hope you like surprises.” It was all he would say about our date tonight. He was probably trying to be romantic, but that’s the thing about boys. They don’t understand that it takes vane people some thought and effort to get ready. Was I supposed to wear elegant shoes? Tennis shoes? Waterproof mascara? A para-chute? He could have at least given me a category for the night’s activity.

After changing outfits three times, I decided on dressy casual—it worked for most things—then went out to the living room to put on my shoes. My shoes were in the closet by the front door because Sandra, my stepmother, insisted we take off our footwear as soon as we came inside. It was better for the carpet.

Sandra was one of those immaculate housekeepers that I hope never to be. I’m all for cleanliness, but I draw the line at immaculate.

Sometimes it’s okay if the light fixtures have streaks.

My stepbrother, Zayn, was sprawled out on the couch reading a book. He has black hair and spectacular brown eyes with so many golden freckles that Sandra refers to them as “the stars dotting the sky of his eyes.” Zayn just calls them the freckle convention that showed up on his eyes.

Out on the street, Nick honked his motorcycle horn. At the noise, Zayn looked up from his book. “Classy way to signal the beginning of a date.”

I grabbed my shoes and slipped them on. “If he rang the doorbell, he’d have to turn off his motorcycle.”

“And?” Zayn asked.

I rolled my eyes, like Zayn was making a big deal out of nothing, but to tell the truth, it was starting to bug me too. I stopped at the entryway mirror to check my appearance. I had pulled my brunette hair back in a beanie, which is one of the few hairstyles you can wear on a motorcycle and not look like you’re impersonating a sea anemone at the end of the ride. Since I started dating Nick, my hairstyles have become all about wind control.

Behind me in the reflection, Zayn stared at me. Slowly he said,

“The problem with dating a guy to tick off your father is you end up having an idiot for a boyfriend.”

“I’m not dating Nick to tick off anyone.” This was partially true.

Ticking off my father was an added benefit. “Nick accepts me for who I am. He cares about me.”

The horn blared again.

“He cares about you, but not enough to get off his motorcycle?” Despite my best intentions to hate Zayn for becoming my replace-ment—he was, after all, the kid my dad had lived with for years—I actually liked Zayn. He felt like a brother.

Zayn was still staring at me, waiting for some response. Really, he should have been happy I was dating Nick. Nick’s friends had become downright nice to Zayn lately. They would nod to him in the school hallways like they’d always been on good terms.

I asked Nick once why he had picked on Zayn before I’d moved in.

Nick had looked surprised at the question. “Guys mess around,” he said.

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

And it probably didn’t to Nick. It means a little more if you’re the one getting messed around with.

The horn honked again. Zayn went back to his book, shaking his head. “Have a fun time. If that’s possible while you’re out with a troglodyte.”

Zayn liked to throw around vocabulary no high school student should know. It was his way of winning arguments. People couldn’t dispute anything he said when they needed a dictionary to figure out what he was talking about. But I had a vocabulary that rivaled Zayn’s.

It came from reading hundreds of novels back before Dad left.

Despite sounding like something that should hang in caves with stalagmites and stalactites, a troglodyte is a stupid brute. They show up a lot in time-travel novels.

Sometimes I missed reading.

“Nick isn’t as bad as you think,” I said.

“Probably not, since I think he’s devil spawn.”

“You should have an open mind,” I said. “Nick does.” Zayn flipped a page of his book. “You’re confusing open with empty.”

I ignored the comment, tucked a stray strand of hair back into my beanie, and went outside. Even though it was 9:00 p.m., the Arizona air was still so warm it felt heavy against my skin. Dad said it would cool down in October, but I didn’t believe him. Arizona only knew two tem-peratures: hot and hotter.

Nick was sitting on his motorcycle, casually fingering the handle-bars. His dark hair high in a quiff as usual and a shadow of stubble dotted his jaw. On most guys, I wouldn’t have thought that looked good. But on Nick it worked. He watched me walk up to his bike and smiled.

Zayn was wrong about him. Nick wasn’t bad—just misunderstood.

He was the kind of guy who didn’t play by other people’s rules. I could respect that. Nick handed me a helmet, and even though he never wore his, I strapped mine on. I wanted to rebel a little, but I wanted to do it with my head attached.

 “So where are we going?” I asked. Judging from the paint splatters on his jeans and T-shirt, it wasn’t going to be any place fancy. I hoped I wasn’t overdressed.

He gave me a secretive smile. “You’ll see when we get there. I’m taking you to do something you’ve never done before.” That could be a lot of things. I climbed onto the back of the bike, wound my arms around his waist, and we sped down the street. As usual, I tried not to think about the fact that Nick and I were wider than the motorcycle wheels, which would seem to make us an unbalanced load. Especially since the wheels were spinning. Very fast.

Real rebellious Boys didn’t worry about those sorts of things.

We drove out of the neighborhood and headed downtown. As the buildings went by, I tried to guess where Nick was taking me. I hoped it wasn’t some concert his brother’s band was putting on. I had already spent hours listening to them practice, and lately every time I heard the band’s name I wanted to snap, “There’s no such word as ‘indestruction.’ You can either be Indestructible or In Destruction although I don’t know why you’d want to be the last one.” Actually, the only things they were destroying were chords, notes, and probably their hearing.

I held on to Nick a little tighter and resolved to act delighted if the surprise turned out to be a whole night of listening to indiscernible lyrics. Indiscernible, that would work as a band name too. Or maybe Indecipherable, Inconceivable, or Insufferable.

We drove through downtown and at last pulled into the city hall’s empty parking lot. It was a boxy two-story building that the architect had tried to dress up by throwing a few columns onto the front. But the columns only made it look like a post office with pretentions.

I was surprised Nick had taken me here. And even more surprised that four of Nick’s friends stood beside their motorcycles at the far end of the parking lot.

“Why are we here?” I asked. If Nick had planned to stage some sort of demonstration, it wasn’t going to work. The building was closed.

Nick pulled up to the other motorcycles and turned off his ignition.

“Revenge.”

He got off his bike. I stayed on, eyeing the trash bag his best friend, Steve, was holding. “What are you talking about?” Nick held out his hand to help me off his bike and kept his fingers twined through mine as he led me over to the others.

Steve opened up the trash bag. “It took you long enough to get here.”

Nick half nodded in my direction. “You know how pretty boys are. They’re never ready when you pick them up.”

I glared at Nick, because it hadn’t taken me  _that_  long, but he wasn’t paying attention to me. Steve reached into the bag and took out two cans of red spray paint. He threw one at Nick and one at me. “Well, hurry. This ain’t the most private place in town.” The spray can felt cold in my hands. A ball of dread formed in my stomach. “You’re not going to vandalize city hall, are you?” Nick laughed and propelled me closer to the building. “I told you I was taking you to do something you’ve never done before.” Yes, he was, and it turned out I was way overdressed for our date.

If he had told me the category for tonight was committing a crime, I could have worn a ski mask. Or better yet, not come at all.

I pulled my hand away from his. “We can’t do this.” He pointed toward the broken street light in front of city hall.

“Don’t worry. I came here before and knocked out the lights. No one will see us.”

The other guys were already beside the building. They took the lids off their cans and sprayed red streaks across the wall. The night hissed with the sound as the smell of fresh paint drifted back to me.

Nick shook his can and popped off the lid. “Go ahead. Let the mayor know what you think.” He stepped forward and sprayed a red slash on the pale stucco wall. It looked like a bleeding wound.

“This is not a good idea.” I tried to keep my voice low, but it spiraled upward. “We’ll get in so much trouble if we get caught.”

“We haven’t been caught yet.”

We’d only been here for a few minutes.

One of Nick’s friends, Mike, wrote, “Close this dump not the libary!” Which meant even though I hadn’t uncapped my spray can, this was my fault. Nick’s friends were risking getting in trouble to support me.

But it was wrong, and not only because Mike had left an  _r_  out of

“library.” I had to push away my sudden urge to spray paint an extra  _r_  in to correct the word. Or to add the comma the sentence needed.

You’re not supposed to edit graffiti.

Nick tapped the can in my hand with his own, clicking them together like he was making a toast. “Write something. It’ll feel good.” I stared at the wall. Hadn’t I wanted to be the rebellious type?

This was it. Rebellion. Danger. And it would feel good to let the mayor know people were upset, to mess up his building like he was messing up my life. I didn’t move though; I just gripped the can.

Steve walked over to us. “Hey, Nick, I bet you can’t hit that upper window.”

Nick leaned down and picked up one of the river rocks lying in the landscaping. “Ten bucks says I can.”

Breaking windows was worse than spray painting. You couldn’t fix windows by painting over them. “Don’t break it,” I said. “That’s serious.”

My comment caused a wave of laughter to go through the guys. A guy named Brandon, who had earring holes so big you could shoot marbles through them, nudged Nick. “Dude, you’ve gone serious on us.” Steve made kissy noises. “He’s a serious boyfriend.” Nick shrugged away from his friends. He didn’t like their ribbing, didn’t like that I’d spoken up. He shot me an aggravated look. “Loosen up and have some fun.”

Nick sized up the distance to the window, then flung the rock upward. It bounced off the wall and shot back to the ground. Brandon stepped out of the way and swore. “Are you trying to kill us?” Steve rubbed his thumb against his fingers and smirked at Nick.

“You owe me ten, man.”

Nick stretched his shoulders. “Stand back. I get more than one try.” I stepped away from Nick and the rest of them. My palms were sweaty against the spray can, and I couldn’t relax enough to stand in one place. Obviously, I wasn’t cut out to be the rebellious type, because I couldn’t do this. I didn’t know whether to try again to make Nick stop or walk away from the building and find my own way home. How upset would Nick be if I just left? He and his friends were doing this for me. For the  _libary_. Maybe I was ungrateful to get upset with them.

Everything was happening so fast that I couldn’t sort it out in my mind. I needed advice, and the only one I could think to call was Zayn.

“I’m going around the back of the building,” I said. None of the guys paid much attention to me since they were watching Nick pick up another rock.

He held it in his palm, testing its weight. “You do that, baby. You write a whole novel back there.”

I hurried to the back of the building. Another smack sounded against the wall. Nick’s friends snorted with laughter.

Nick said, “Hey, in baseball you get three strikes—that’s only two.” I took out my cell phone and dialed Zayn’s phone one slow number at a time. I had just gotten the phone and hadn’t programmed the speed dial yet. I leaned against the wall while the phone rang. An angry crash sounded from the other side of the building. Apparently Nick’s aim wasn’t that bad after all.

“Perfect hit,” Nick said, his voice filled with strut and confidence.

“That was the wrong window,” Steve said. “You still owe me a ten.”

Zayn picked up. “Hey, Louis.”

“Nick and his friends are vandalizing city hall and I don’t know what to do.”

Zayn paused. “They’re what?”

“They’re spray painting stuff and they broke a window.” Another crashing noise came from the other side of the building. “Make that two windows.”

Zayn’s voice sounded incredulous. “On your date?”

“He’s doing it because he cares about me.”

“Sheesh, couldn’t you find a guy who would just give you flowers?”

I paced along the back side of the wall, not even caring that I could hardly see where I was going. “How do I make them stop?”

“Start walking toward our house and I’ll drive down and get you.”

“If I make a big deal about this, Nick will be angry. What if he breaks up with me?”

“And the downside of that would be?”

“I don’t want to be dumped.” My voice choked. “Nick is the only person in the world who cares about me.”

“Louis!” I heard Nick yell, but I didn’t answer him. I didn’t know what to say to him yet.

Zayn’s voice came over the line. “You know what Nick is doing is wrong or you wouldn’t have called me. You can’t go along with this.” I let out a whimper, but I knew he was right. I would have to tell the guys to stop.

“I don’t want to deal with those miscreants when I pick you up,” Zayn said, “so ditch them.”

Miscreants: troublemakers or wrongdoers. In this case, not only an insult but an accurate description.

Zayn was right. It was better not to involve him. “You don’t have to pick me up.” I let out a sigh of resignation. “I’ll make Nick take me home. I guess we need to talk about this.” Motorcycles started up and peeled out of the parking lot. Some of the guys must have left. Good, less damage to worry about.

“Your dad is going to freak,” Zayn said.

“No, he won’t, because he’s not going to find out.” As soon as I said it, I knew he would. The guys had painted stuff about the library closing onto the side of the building. Was there any way to buy tan paint and cover that up before people got to work in the morning?

I laughed at myself. I hated the mayor, but I would have to spend the night painting city hall in order to cover the graffiti. I was  _so_ not cut out to be the bad boy.

I walked slowly back around the corner of the building, trying to phrase what to say to Nick.

Immediately I noticed flashlight beams running across the side of the building. Two guys stood by the wall, illuminating the graffiti—checking their work, I supposed. Using flashlights was a stupid thing to do since we didn’t want to be seen by people on the street. I wondered where Nick had gone.

I kept walking. Then I realized the two figures weren’t Nick’s friends. Nick and the others were nowhere around. The two figures were policemen.

For a moment I stood frozen to the spot. Every curse word I knew—and some that I made up just for the occasion—went through my mind. Should I run for it or stay frozen and hope the officers didn’t notice me?

I took a slow-motion step backward. Before I could try another, one of the policemen swung his flashlight beam on me.

I dropped the spray can, turned, and fled back the way I’d come.

“Hey!” a policeman barked. “Stop!”

I ran faster. I had no idea where I was going, where I could go, but panic pushed me forward. A cinder block fence edged the back of city hall’s property. It was too tall to climb over. I kept running.

Where had Nick gone? Had they captured him already?

And then the pieces fell in place in my mind. The way he had called my name. The sound of the motorcycles. The fact that I hadn’t seen any motorcycles in the parking lot just now.

Nick had seen the police coming. And he’d left me.

While I was back behind city hall telling Zayn that Nick was the only person in the world who cared about me, he’d deserted me. He’d left me to the police.

I was too stunned to even feel angry.

I had nearly run the length of city hall when another policeman stepped around the side of the building, blocking the path in front of me. His flashlight beam trained in on me, blinding me. “Hold it right there,” he panted out. “You’re not going anywhere.” He was right. I couldn’t get around him, and his partner was coming up behind me.

I held my hand up to shield my eyes. The policeman in front of me became a blur against the light, but I could tell he was shaking his head in disgust. “You’re in a heap of trouble. You know that, don’t you?”

I did. I was in trouble. And Nick didn’t care about me.


	2. Chapter Two

 The police car was parked close to the street. The officers made me walk to it with my hands on the back of my head. I thought this was the most humiliating moment in my life, until they had me stand, feet apart, with my hands pressed against the side of the car. Then one of the police officers frisked me with the back of his hands. Which is still pretty much like being felt up by an old man. All this while a stream of cars drove by. I could tell the drivers were watching me because they slowed way down. I prayed none of them were kids from school.

In the reflection of the car window, I noticed my beanie hadn’t worked to keep my hair in place. My fringe was hanging out.

Well, that was going to look great in a mug shot.

After Officer A-little-too-eager-to-frisk-teenage-boys made sure I didn’t have any weapons shoved in my clothes, he handcuffed my hands behind my back and made me sit in the police car. He had a bulge of fat underneath his chin and only the suggestion of hair draped over the top of his head. Leaning into the car to look at me, he said,

“So did you do this by yourself, or did your friends help?” I had no friends. I didn’t say anything, just looked straight ahead.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

I didn’t answer. The handcuffs were too tight and bit into my wrists. I opened and shut my hands, trying to ease the pinch.

He had taken my cell phone from my pocket when he frisked me, and he flipped it open. I wondered if he was going through my text messages with Nick. He wouldn’t find my name from that. Nick called me Babe.

The officer snapped my phone shut. “Your parents will need to come pick you up. If you don’t give us your name, you’re going to be at the station for a long time.”

I still didn’t say anything. I had the right to remain silent.

He sneered and leaned closer. I caught the smell of stale coffee on his breath. “You hoodlums always think you’re so tough. Takes a lot of guts to break windows. You’re real brave coming out after dark to spray paint buildings.” His voice gained momentum. “You’re nothing but a messed-up punk who can make this easier, or who can sit there glaring and make it harder.”

I wasn’t glaring; I was in shock. I was trying not to shake, not to cry.

“Fine then,” the man said. “Let’s go to the station.” He slammed the door and got in the front of the car.

Well, Nick was right about one thing. Tonight he took me to do something I’d never done before.

• • •

When I got to the police station, Officer Cop A. Feely marched me through the lobby, past the receptionist, or sentinel, or whatever you call the lady in the police shirt who rules over the lobby. Then he took me down the hall to a holding room. He strutted during all of this, like I was some elk he’d bagged.

I’ve always been a law-abiding citizen. Once when I bought a pair of jeans, I picked up a keychain from a countertop display and absent-mindedly walked out of the store with it. I was only a few feet down the street when I realized I still had it, but I totally freaked out. I was convinced the store manager would rush through the doors after me and no one would ever believe I hadn’t purposely shoplifted it. I hurried back to the store, holding the keychain out like it was about to burst into flames.

But now with an officer marching me through the station, I felt like scum. And I hated him for making me feel that way. I also hated the receptionist/sentinel for looking smug and unconcerned, and just for good measure, I hated anyone in the world who happened to be wearing a dark blue shirt at that moment.

The officer led me to a room, took off my handcuffs, and motioned for me to sit down. “You ready to tell us who you are?” I sat down and shook my head. Once I told them my name, they would ask other questions like who had been with me tonight. I didn’t know how to answer that yet.

He walked back to the door and sent another threatening look in my direction. “The detective will come talk to you in a minute.” Then he shut the door.

A two-way mirror lined the wall in front of me. I wondered if there was anyone behind it, or if the police only spied on hardened criminals. A black camera sat perched in the corner of the ceiling. I might be recorded. Great. I would have to be careful about what I said.

The minutes ticked by. I wasn’t sure if the detective was busy or whether this was part of my punishment—making me sit here and worry about my fate as a guest in Hotel Convictland.

Actually, I appreciated the time to think.

I was seething at Nick. He had taken me to vandalize the city hall on a date, and he didn’t listen when I told him we shouldn’t do it, and worst of all, he left me there.

You didn’t do that to people you loved. Romeo wouldn’t have left Juliet with a spray can clutched in her hand. But Nick left me. He left me to take the fine or jail time or whatever punishment I was going to get.

Would I have a criminal record now? My stomach clenched at the thought. Job applications always asked if you had ever been convicted of a crime. Colleges probably asked the same thing. This could change my whole life.

So maybe the things Zayn said about Nick were true. Maybe he wasn’t a misunderstood, brooding bad boy; maybe he really was a jerk.

Should I show him the same loyalty he’d shown me and turn him and his friends over to the police? But I hardly knew anyone at school.

If I told the police the truth, I would be known as Narc Boy. And Snitch Boy. And Fink Boy. And as many other synonyms as there were for Boys Who Lands His Boyfriend In Jail. No one at school would want to speak to me, including Nick.

Although right now I wasn’t sure if I was ever speaking to Nick again anyway, so maybe that part didn’t matter.

My stomach felt like a lid someone had screwed on too tight.

There wasn’t a good solution to this. My dad would flip, and my mom—wherever she was on the road—would flip too. I glanced at the mirror again, at my messy fringe. I couldn’t leave it like that. When my dad finally came to pick me up, I didn’t want to look like one of those half-coherent criminals who stumbled around on cop shows. Besides, it was easier to fix my hair than think about everything else.

I looked at my reflection and tried to tuck my fringe back into the beanie. When that didn’t work, I took the beanie out and combed my fingers through my hair the best I could. Which wasn’t all that well. My hair had still been a little damp when I had put my hat on. Now it was wavy and looked wild and tousled.

A middle-aged man opened the door and walked in. He held a coffee cup in one hand and a file folder in the other. Barely glancing at me, he settled into the chair on the other side of the table. “When the criminals are so bored they’re doing their hair, it means it’s time to talk.”

They  _had_  been watching me. I felt myself blush. I wanted to say,

“I wasn’t trying to make myself look nice for you, if that’s what you’re thinking.” But I had already decided not to say anything. Instead of meeting his eyes, I scrutinized his tie. It was pale blue with little cacti on it.

Arizona: not just a place, a fashion statement.

“So, Louis, do you want to tell me what happened tonight?” I let out a gasp. I had no idea how he’d guessed my name. No, guessed wasn’t the right word. If he were guessing, he wouldn’t have come up with Louis. In my entire life, I’d never met another Louis in America.

My father chose the name from some old britsh book he loved.

The detective smiled at my reaction. “You’re not in Queens anymore. People talk in small towns. They know things about each other.” How did he know I was from Queens? I had never seen him before in my life.

He tapped his pen against the table impatiently. “Who was with you tonight?”

I clutched my hands in my lap and didn’t answer.

“Are you saying it was only you?” he asked. “Because if you’re taking responsibility for the damage, replacing those busted windows will run you between fifteen hundred and two thousand dollars. Hiring someone to repaint the side of the building will cost a few hundred more. If you want us to send the bill to someone else, you need to tell us who.”

I tried not to let him see me flinch. I didn’t have that much money and my dad was about to lose his job. Still, I didn’t want to let this guy intimidate me into turning over my boyfriend. Or ex-boyfriend, probably. I hadn’t decided yet. After all, Nick might show up on my doorstep with flowers, begging for my forgiveness. He might offer to pay the fine.

“You know, this isn’t the first building that’s been vandalized in the last month.” The detective held up a folder to show me the proof.

“We’ve got a dentist’s office, a gas station, and a McDonald’s. Same sort of handiwork we found on the city hall. We’ve been searching for the vandals, and tonight we caught you.” He leaned back in his chair, his hands folded smugly in his lap. “It would be a shame if these got pinned on you too.”

My stomach lurched. Nick hadn’t vandalized those other buildings, had he? Tonight had happened because he was mad about my father and stepmother losing their jobs. He had thrown those rocks for me.

“You’re making that up about the other buildings,” I said.

Without a trace of emotion, the detective flipped open the folder, took out a picture, and slid it to me. “Look familiar?” It didn’t. The photo showed a gas station with red slashes across the side of one wall, like a giant cat had scratched it. Why would Nick have sprayed graffiti on the other buildings?

The detective put the picture back in the folder. “I don’t think you realize how much trouble you’re in, so I want your parents to come down and talk with you. Then you can decide what to tell me.” He pushed himself away from the table. “If you’re a smart boy, you won’t take the rap for someone else.”

He stood up and motioned me to follow him out of the room.

When we reached the lobby, he said, “Take a seat. It will be a while before Mary gets around to calling your parents. It’s been a busy night.” He glanced over at the waiting room’s other occupant, a teenage guy.

He sat in the middle of the only row of chairs, flipping through a magazine without paying attention to it. Before the detective left the room, he sent me a humorless smile. “Hope you’re not out past your curfew.”

I sat down on the last chair in the row. I had remained outwardly calm so far, and I’d been proud of myself for staying tough. But now my hands shook. I wasn’t tough. And I was alone sitting in the police station. The last thing I wanted to do was cry, but the tears ran down my cheeks without permission. The most I could manage was to choke back the sobs that pulsed in my throat.

I hadn’t noticed the teenage guy move, but he sat down on the chair next to me, holding out a box of tissues.

“Thanks.” I took a couple and blew my nose. I had never blown my nose in front of a stranger, let alone a guy who was my age and good-looking. And he was good-looking. I wouldn’t have even glanced at his face, except I wondered if I knew him from school, and once I saw him, the handsome thing was sort of hard to overlook. He had curly brown hair, kinda tanned skin, and dark green eyes that made him look like he’d stepped off a movie set somewhere. He wore a pair of thight black skinny jeans, the kind that have been worn comfortably thin, and an olive green T-shirt that fit snugly across his broad shoulders.

I hoped he had already graduated from high school, because the fewer people from Rock Canyon High who knew about my trip here, the better. Then again, he was here too, so he couldn’t look down on me for being hauled into the police station.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his deep voice a soft lull in the large room.

I nodded, then laughed at my automatic reaction. I clearly wasn’t okay. I took another tissue from the box and wiped tears from my cheeks, trying to pull myself together. I must have looked like a mess.

“So what brings you here?” I asked.

He grinned like it didn’t matter. “Same thing as usual. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time. You drive your truck through a park, do a few spinouts, and these guys get all bent out of shape.” He stretched out his legs. “What about you?” I let out a grunt. “I should use my one phone call to contact  _The_   _Guinness Book of World Records_. Because I’ve just had the worst date in history.”

“A date, huh?” The guy looked around the lobby. “So where did he end up? Do they have him in the back?” Now that the police were gone, I suddenly wanted to talk about what had happened. I wanted some sympathy before my father came down to the station and ripped into me. “No, he left with his friends when they saw the police coming. At least, that’s what I assume. I was around the back of a building making a phone call.”

“Oh.” The guy nodded philosophically. “Boys using cell phones while on dates. I see your boyfriend’s point.” I smiled despite myself. “That’s not how it was.”

“Just joking.” He held up a hand like he was taking a pledge. “Personally, I would never leave my boyfriend talking on a cell phone while the police closed in.”

Hmm. I guess that made him a loyal criminal. I shouldn’t have found that attractive in a guy but I did.

He surveyed me, his dark eyes resting on mine. “So what was so important that you had to make a phone call while your boyfriend was out committing a crime?”

“I was asking advice on how to make my boyfriend stop committing the crime.”

“Ahh.” The guy drew out the sound. “That’s irony. Or bad timing.”

“That’s my usual luck.”

He raised an eyebrow at my statement. “Do you come here often?” Then he smiled. He had gorgeous straight teeth. “That sounded like a pickup line, didn’t it? Hey, if your boyfriend is the jealous, violent type, forget I said that.”

“I’ve never been here before.” I glanced around the lobby at the gray plastic chairs. “And somehow I don’t think it will make my list of favorite date destinations.”

The guy lowered his voice. “So how did a date with your boyfriend turn into a crime? Did he say, ‘Hey, do you want to catch a movie, and then we’ll hold up a convenience store?’ ”

“He didn’t tell me where we were going,” I said. “And I thought he was doing it for me—taking on city hall, or at least breaking their windows.” That didn’t make sense, so I added, “Nick wanted to get revenge for me.”

I hadn’t realized I said Nick’s name out loud until the guy said, “Nick Grimshaw?”

“You know Nick?” I asked.

“Oh yeah, Nick and I go way back.”

It figured I would run into one of Nick’s friends in the police station. I wondered why I hadn’t seen this guy at Indestruction’s practice.

On second thought, I didn’t really wonder that. He probably had some musical taste.

“Let me guess who his friends were.” He ticked the names off his fingers as he spoke. “Gibbs Johnson, Mike Hunsaker, and Steve and Brandon Hart.”

“Yes,” I said, with as much surprise as if he’d done a magic trick.

“You know them too?”

The guy leaned back in his seat, trying to hide his smile. “Of course.”

Of course. The detective had told me everyone knew each other in small towns. Apparently it was true. He had also said that people talked. And judging by the fact that the police knew who I was, people hadn’t been saying good things about me. This night would just give everyone more to talk about.

I wadded the tissue in my hand. “This is a stupid hick town. I can’t wait to move back to New York.”

“Right,” the guy said with a slow drawl. “ ’Cause the police don’t hassle teenagers in New York.”

The guy had a point, but I didn’t concede it. I glanced at the front door. Dad and Sandra would be here soon and I still wasn’t sure what to tell the detective. It was a desperate thing to do, asking advice from a stranger in the waiting room of the police station, but he was the only one around. Besides, looking into his deep green eyes, I felt he would understand my predicament. He knew I was in trouble, but he was also cut from the same cloth as Nick—he was someone who bucked the system. I whispered, “The detective said if I don’t tell them who was with me, they’ll pin everything on me—including a bunch of other vandalism jobs. Can they do that?”

The guy shrugged. “They’ll try all sorts of things to mess with you. Sometimes it’s best to give them what they want.”

“But I can’t turn in my boyfriend and his friends. How low class is that?”

“Not quite as low class as leaving your boyfriend to be arrested for your crime.” He sent me an incredulous look. “Do you still want Nick as your boyfriend?”

The reminder stung. “Maybe not. But that doesn’t mean I want him dragged in here by these minions in blue shirts and charged with a bunch of stuff he didn’t do.” I glared down the hallway where I’d last seen Officer Frisky McFriskerson. “The police are a bunch of power-hungry jerks.”

“Jerks,” the guy repeated mockingly. He probably would have chosen a stronger word.

I looked down at my wrists, still seeing the handcuffs that had been there earlier. “I’ve only gone to school here for a month; if I turn in my friends, I’ll never get any new ones.”

“Maybe you should just try hanging out with guys who aren’t criminals,” he said.

This is when I realized that even though the guy had said he knew Nick and his friends, he’d never said he liked them.

My gaze went to his eyes, trying to read his expression. He wasn’t looking at me, though. He waved at someone across the lobby. I turned to see who it was, but the only one in the room was the lady behind the desk. She motioned to someone behind her.

I didn’t understand what it meant. I turned back to him with a question on my lips. It never got past my lips because the detective opened the lobby door and walked over. I expected him to come talk to me. I braced myself for it, but he barely looked at me. He went over to the guy. “Well?”

I waited for the guy to scowl at the detective. Instead his voice came out casually. “It’s who we thought and he named them all.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, thin box. A recorder.

My mouth dropped open. I felt like I had been punched. “You work for the police?”

His gaze flickered back to me. “When I have to.” He turned to the detective. “He didn’t know they were going to do it beforehand, and he didn’t get away because he was behind the building calling someone to ask how she should stop Nick. The guys saw the police coming and took off without him.”

The detective let out a short dismissive laugh. “What a great catch Nick is.” He took the recorder from the guy and slipped it into his breast pocket. “We’ll send some officers out to see if we can track down our missing artists. Thanks for your work.” He turned to me almost as an afterthought. “Be glad you decided to cooperate with us, Louis. It would have gone much worse for you otherwise. Your parents will pick you up soon.”

I couldn’t process much of what the detective said. He walked back across the lobby, and I stared at the guy who I had thought was my age, but was obviously some sort of undercover police officer. I had trusted him and he betrayed me. Why hadn’t I seen that coming?

I wanted to call him a string of names. Instead I slowly said, “You lied to me.”

“And you were an accessory to a crime. Which of us has had a worse night?” He stood up and wiped his hands on the front of his jeans as though to say he was finished with this job. I turned sharply away, erasing him from my line of vision. I didn’t want to look at him.

“You made the right choice to tell us, even if you don’t know it yet,” he said.

I clenched my teeth. “Drop dead.”

“And they couldn’t pin the other crimes on you,” he said as if I hadn’t spoken. “They couldn’t even pin this one on you. You don’t have any traces of spray paint on your hands or clothes. Anyone could tell you weren’t involved in the graffiti.” Which made this that much worse. They had known I hadn’t done it and had bullied me anyway. “You are such a jerk,” I said.

He laughed, and I hated the sound of it. “You know, Louis, you’ve got the good guys and the bad guys confused. Your life will get better once you figure them out.”

He turned, walked across the lobby, and disappeared through the same door the detective had gone through.

I hated him. And I hated that as he walked away, I noticed how nicely his t-shirt fit over the muscles of his back. You shouldn’t notice that about a person you hate.

 


	3. Chapter 3

My dad didn’t say anything as we climbed into our car. He had been tight-lipped and angry the entire time he was at the police station. He pulled out of the parking lot going about twice the speed limit, which was sort of careless considering where we were.

His silence didn’t last long. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you caused tonight?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “The only person in Rock Canyon who is worse to have on your bad side than Mayor Rossman is Police Chief Styles. If there was ever a chance of saving the library, it’s gone now. All because you had to spray paint commentary about the library on city hall.” My father should have known I didn’t do that. I know how to spell “library.”

“The police chief has been in a bad mood for a long time and is just looking for people to take it out on. You put us front and center in his sights.”

I wanted to say I was sorry, but I’ve always been lousy at apologies. Somehow I couldn’t say the words while he was yelling. Eventually he would ask why I had gone along with Nick, and then I would explain that I hadn’t known, and had called Zayn to ask for advice.

Dad gripped the steering wheel with increasingly white knuckles.

“This is the end of it, Louis. No more rebellious friends, no more attitude. If Nick says hi to you in the hallway at school, you are to walk by him without so much as a nod. Do you understand?” He still didn’t wait for me to answer. “You’re grounded until further notice, and from here on out, any friends who can’t produce proof that they’re on the honor roll will not have access to your phone number.”

I didn’t point out that none of his punishments mattered because I wouldn’t have friends now anyway.

He went on berating me about everything I had done ever since I moved in with them. He had a whole list. I wondered why he didn’t come out and say he didn’t want me. It was more than obvious. By the time we reached our house, tears pinched the back of my eyes.

When the car stopped, I opened my door and choked out, “What gives you the right to tell me how to live my life?”

“I’m your father,” he shouted, emphasizing every word. “And that boy deserted you at a crime scene!”

“Yeah, and you deserted me a long time before that!” I slammed the car door, ran into the house, and didn’t stop running until I reached my room.

For a while I lay on my bed, hugging my pillow to my stomach and crying. The real problem behind all of this, I decided, was that I kept looking for someone to love me. My father. Nick. All those guys I dated in Queens—I had gone out with some gems there. The guy who hit on my best friend. The guy who wanted me to do his math homework. The guy who was always too busy playing computer games to talk on the phone. Actually, that described a lot of them.

When was I going to learn that trying to pry affection out of people just made me vulnerable? I always ended up getting hurt. Love was a liability. I wouldn’t look for it anymore. I would give up on love and become one of those high-powered bussines men who crushed people beneath his designer shoes.

My mom called. She yelled at me about being involved with vandals and then for telling my father he deserted me. I took it stoically. It was par for the night.

A half hour later my cell phone beeped. I opened a text from Nick.

His message consisted of four-letter words—except for the part where he said he never wanted to see me again. I supposed that meant the police had found him.

I put my face back down in my pillow and tried to fall asleep, tried to stop the emotions that squeezed me. I made myself think of the positives: having no friends would make it easy to move to my grandma’s in December.

Well, not really. Grandma didn’t want footprints, let alone boarders, in her house. After she found out about tonight, she was going to harp on my criminal past for as long as I lived with her. She would probably count her possessions every night to make sure I didn’t pocket something.

There were no positives to this.

I heard a noise, like something tiny clearing its throat. I looked up. The room had a dim glow that hadn’t been there before, and when I glanced at the end of my bed I saw what looked like a six-inch leprechaun doll standing there.

A voice with a thick brogue accent said, “I must be at the right place. There’s the damsel crying his eyes out, but no bloomin’ fairy. I should have known that dosser would be late.” My first thought was that Zayn had come into my room and was hiding at the end of my bed with a puppet in an attempt to cheer me up. He used to do that sort of thing with Lottie when she came for visits. Her Beanie Baby cat would have conversations with her about his plans to conquer the world. I wasn’t twelve though, and I wasn’t in the mood for these sorts of games. Even if I was glad that Zayn cared.

“Just what I need right now,” I said dryly, “a leprechaun.”

“I’m short on gold,” he said, “so it won’t do you any good to ask for it.”

“Of course you are. You wouldn’t be my leprechaun if you weren’t broke.” I picked up my pillow and chucked it toward the end of the bed.

The leprechaun ducked as the pillow flew over his head, which was pretty amazing considering I didn’t see Zayn’s hand holding the doll anywhere. Were there strings somewhere?

The leprechaun stood back up and pointed a finger at me—a perfectly formed, movable finger. “Attacking a magical creature is grounds for a curse, you know.”

“What …” I leaned closer. The doll’s eyes and mouth were actually moving. It was impossible, but I was watching it happen.

“Just because your life is right pathetic doesn’t mean you’re excused from good behavior.” The leprechaun reached up and straightened the tiny green bowler hat perched on his head. “I’ve turned people into pebbles for less.” I blinked at him. He was still there. I blinked again. “I’m asleep.” The leprechaun surveyed me with furrowed brows. “I don’t mean to contradict you, but you seem fairly awake—moving around and talking and all.” He kept watching me. “The constant blinking is a little odd though.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I’m asleep.” I dug my fingernails into the back of my hand to prove my point. In dreams you didn’t feel pain. But I felt it now. Insistent sharp jabs.

The leprechaun frowned. “Are you away in the head, lass?” I let out a shrill gasp and sat back so hard I banged my back into my headboard. “You’re a leprechaun!” He folded his arms. “Yeah, real observant, you are.”

“Leprechauns are real?”

“That logic would follow, wouldn’t it?” He huffed and cocked his head at me. “You’re not the brightest star in the constellation, are you, lass?”

I shrunk back on the bed, glancing around to see if there were more of them in the room. My dresser and bookshelf were clear. Nothing sat on the carpet but my shoes. “What are you doing in my bedroom?”

“Wasting my time, apparently. Aye, fairy godmothers are an unreliable bunch. And yours is worse than most.” He sat down on my bed-spread with a thump and kicked his legs out in front of him. His green suit was embroidered with leaves, but a couple of buttons were missing and the sleeves looked worn. Scuff marks lightened the front of his boots, and one heel was chipped.

A down-and-out leprechaun was sitting on my bed.

“You wouldn’t have something to eat around here, would you?” he asked. “A Ding Dong, perhaps? I’m partial to those.” Then the other thing he said clicked in my mind. “I have a fairy godmother?” I could barely wrap my mind around the idea. I would have asked more questions, but a fountain of sparklers erupted in the middle of the room.

My fairy godmother was coming. With my luck, she had probably come to yell at me like my parents had.

The sparklers winked out with a puff, and a teenage girl with short pink hair, sunglasses, and translucent wings appeared in my room.

She wore a violet miniskirt and thigh-high black boots. She held a silver wand, and a lavender sequined purse hung from her shoulder. I could already tell she was stunning even before she slipped her sunglasses onto her head. Somehow I hadn’t expected my fairy godmother to be so young. Or to be wearing frosty purple eye shadow.

Instead of yelling at me for my police encounter, she smiled, and when she spoke, her voice had the same tinkling sound as wind chimes. “Greetings, Louis. I’m Perrie Edwards, your fairy godmother.”

“ _Fair_  godmother,” the leprechaun called from the end of the bed.

Perrie’s gaze shot over to the leprechaun, and her eyes widened in unhappy surprise. Her voice was no longer sweetness; it was as sharp as glass. “Niall, what are you doing here?” The leprechaun crossed his arms. “I’m your assistant. I’m assisting.”

Perrie thrust her wand downward in agitation. A stream of glittery lights shot across my floor and flashed up the length of my wall. For a moment the room lit up like a glowing candle.

Perrie walked toward Niall, her hand on her hip. “I told you I didn’t want your help.”

“Which means for once we agree. I would rather play nursemaid to a viper than help you, but unfortunately the Unified Magical Alliance scheduled me to be your assistant. Again.” He shook his head in disgust. “They couldn’t just punish me for abandoning my last assignment and be done with it. No, they had to resort to slow, aggravating torture.”

Perrie turned back to me, her smile decidedly forced.

“Ignore that bitter little man on the bed. He’s of no consequence.” Except that he could turn me into a pebble if he was mad. My gaze ricocheted between them.

“As I was saying,” Perrie continued her voice like wind chimes again, “my name is Perrie Edwards. My assistant, on the other hand, is only allowed to call me ‘The Most High Boss’ or ‘Your Excellence of Fairyness.’ ”

“You don’t have to worry about supplying names for me,” Niall called to her. “I’ve plenty of me own for you.” Perrie flicked her wand and sparks flew around the room, a couple of them nearly hitting the leprechaun, but she kept her gaze on me. “Since I’m your fairy godmother, I’ve come to grant you three wishes—”

“She’s technically only a  _fair_  godmother,” the leprechaun called,

“Because her grades in fairy school were only average.” He folded his arms across the front of his worn green suit. “Go ahead, ask her if she can prolong time properly. She can’t.” Perrie turned and glared at him. “Which doesn’t matter since very few mortals ever wish to prolong time.” She flung her wand hand in my direction, and sparks zinged past me. “Do you really think Louis wants this moment to go on forever? Look at him. His eyes are blood-shot, his face is swollen—he basically looks like something a troll re-gurgitated. Who would want that every day for the rest of their lives?” Perrie took a deep breath and her pale wings fluttered. She tapped the end of her wand into her palm and turned back to me. Her voice was softly lilting again. “Now, back to spreading happiness. You’re allowed three wishes. Well, at least you will be once you sign the paperwork.” She shot Niall a challenging look. “I assume that since you’re my assistant, you have a copy of the contract?” He stepped toward us, reaching into his suit pocket. “Of course I do.” Not finding it in the first pocket, he checked another, then another, until he pulled out a tiny roll of parchment. He stepped to the end of the bed and handed it to me. “There you are. All in perfect order.

Just sign at the bottom.”

I took the scroll from his hand. It was no bigger than a stick of gum. “I’m supposed to sign this?”

Niall nodded and lowered his voice. “A word of warning, make sure you read the fine print.”

I unrolled a bit of the scroll with one finger. “It’s all fine print.” Perrie took the contract and tapped it with her wand. “Which is why my assistant should have maximized it before he gave it to you.” It grew until it was nearly the size of a roll of paper towels. Perrie studied the top of the scroll for a moment, wiping her finger disapprovingly against a dark spot on the paper. “Niall, you spilled something on the contract.”

“I’ve a weakness for chocolate. I can’t help it.”

“You’ve a weakness for too many things.” Perrie pulled a pen from her purse and handed it and the scroll to me. “You can read through this if you want, but quite frankly I have a job interview in ten minutes, so I’m in a bit of a rush.”

“What?” Niall called from his side of the bed. “I thought you already had your dream job.” He laughed while she narrowed her eyes.

As though to let me in on the joke, Niall said, “She’s a tooth fairy lackey. Works nights stealing teeth from wee little tykes.”

“I’m not a lackey,” she snapped, “I’m a team member. And I don’t steal teeth, I grope around under pillows until I find the discarded ones.” To me she said, “It’s  _so_  revolting. I would quit in a second, but hey, it’s expensive to accessorize when you have high fashion standards. I need some sort of part-time job.” She pushed a strand of glossy pink hair behind her ear. “I’m hoping Muse Incorporated will hire me.

I could totally flit around inspiring art and music. I mean …” She waved a hand over herself. “I’m completely inspiring.” Niall let out a snort. “Oh, right. That’s what’s causing me head to ache right now. It’s all the inspiration.” I fingered the scroll, feeling awkward for interrupting them, but I had to ask the question that had been on my mind since Perrie popped into my bedroom. “Why do I get a fairy godmother? I’ve never had anything good happen to me in my life.” Perrie and Niall stopped arguing. Niall pursed his lips, then muttered, “Well, you certainly didn’t earn one because of your over-whelming gratitude for all the good things that have happened in your life.”

Perrie stepped toward me. “I’m glad you brought that up. It’s true most people earn their fairy godmothers by doing good deeds or by helping poor beggars who turn out to be fairies in disguise. But to tell you the truth, I’ve never been big on dressing up in rags and waiting around in the snow to see if someone offers me their coat. If I’m out in the snow, it’s because I’m skiing with some buff elf guys. However …” She reached into her purse and pulled out a disk that was a little larger than a CD. “I needed an extra-credit project, and your life qualified according to the pathetic-o-meter.” She handed me the disk, which had a picture of me in the center of a pie-shaped graph. A large portion of it was colored blue, a small portion was yellow, and little lines dotted the circumference like minutes on a clock. At the edge between the blue and yellow, it read:  _Dated a hoodlum. 78 percent pathetic_. Beneath this line, in smaller print, was the sentence:  _Willingly listened to dreadful band music_.

And underneath this, in even smaller print:  _Refuses to read novels,_   _simply to aggravate his father._

I couldn’t read the other sentences. They were too small. “That’s really … nice,” I said, staring at the disk. “You’ve got a pie chart of all the ways I’m pathetic.”

“You can keep it,” Perrie said. “That way you can track your progress.”

“Great,” I responded, without enthusiasm. How can you be enthu-siastic when you find out your fairy godmother thinks you’re 78 percent pathetic?

“Since you didn’t technically earn your fairy wishes in the traditional way,” Perrie went on, “you should know about the dishonesty clause.” She took the scroll and unrolled it to a place in the middle.

The ends of the scroll lay across my carpet like lolling tongues. “Here, read this.”

I squinted at the elaborate lettering.  _Until the terms of thy wishes_   _are met, if thou shalt tell an untruth, in consequence of such an act, a_   _reptile or amphibian shalt grow upon thy tongue until such instance_   _when thou spittith it out. Or if thou art an animal rights activist and_   _considereth such an act to be inhumane to reptiles or amphibians,_   _thou mayest choose instead to have flashing lights above thy head de-claring thou art a blasted liar._

“Oh,” I said.

“The animal rights option is new this year,” Perrie said. “The UMA is very progressive.” She waved her hand, showing a set of lavender fingernails. “Personally I’ve always thought telling the truth is overrated. Lies make the world a happier place, but rules are rules. So until I’m done being your fairy godmother, you need to choose. Which will it be—frogs or lights?”

“Lights,” I said. I couldn’t bear the thought of spitting out a frog.

She checked a box by the clause, and I skimmed through the next few paragraphs. Between the long sentences and old-fashioned phras-ing, I couldn’t make sense of them. “What does the rest of this say?”

“Telling lies is really the only thing you need to watch out for,” Perrie said. “The rest basically states that all wishes you make are permanent and binding, their consequences lasting. Also you may suffer certain side effects, such as drowsiness, headaches, lethargy, or an intense desire to eat bugs if, during your magical journey, you’re turned into a frog.” She didn’t even pause for a breath before she went on. “You can’t wish for more wishes or for vague generalities like happiness that are impossible to grant. Your wish has to be something specific enough that I can use my wand to make it happen. Oh, and recently there’s been a ban on inserting yourself into the  _Twilight_  series.

The Cullens are tired of different teenage girls pinging into their story every time they turn around.”

Perrie opened her lavender sequined purse and pulled out a quill. “It’s your standard fairy godmother contract. You make a wish, and I watch over you. Sign where it reads, ‘Damsel in distress.’ ” I hesitated. It seemed risky to sign a magical contract I hadn’t read.

Perrie glanced at a diamond-studded watch on her wrist. “Now I have four minutes until my job interview.” I found the signature line and signed my name. Perrie was my fairy godmother. She wouldn’t ask me to sign something that could hurt me.

Perrie took hold of the end of the scroll, yanked it downward, and the whole thing rolled up like a window shade. It must have shrunk back down to its original size, because as she put one end into her purse, it disappeared. “All right then, on to the first wish. What will make you happy?”

The way she phrased the question made me stop and think. I had been about to wish for a huge bank account—enough money to not only keep the library open but to name it in my honor. Would that make me happy though? It wouldn’t change being an outcast at school on Monday morning. It wouldn’t change my father’s disappointment in me. I’m not sure what money would change, except instead of moving in with Grandma, I could stay here and live with people who thought of me as a snitch or a criminal.

For a moment I considered wishing for Lottie’s play to close so she, Mom, and I could go back to living in New York. But I couldn’t bring myself to take away my sister’s dream.

I sat down on my bed. “I’m not sure …” Perrie glanced at her watch again. “Wealth is always a popular wish.”

I picked at my pillowcase dejectedly. “Money won’t buy me friends.”

“If you wish for enough, it will,” Perrie said brightly. “People like to say they can’t be bought, but they really can.” It sounded sort of horrifying when she put it like that. I didn’t want friends who were only interested in me because I was rich.

I shook my head.

“Revenge, then? You can wish to change city hall and the police station into toadstools.”

I laughed at the image that presented. I could see Officer Frisk-meister, a half-eaten doughnut in one hand, staring with a baffled expression at what used to be the police station. Better yet, I could see Mr. Handsome Undercover Cop trying to figure out who’d stolen the building.

Unfortunately, if I zapped away the police station and city hall, it would mean the mayor would have to take money from somewhere else to rebuild the buildings. Maybe they would close more programs.

“I could change a few police officers into ravens,” Perrie chimed.

“Then they could be jailbirds.”

Niall looked at the ceiling. “As if the world doesn’t have enough birds with enormous egos.”

Perrie waved a dismissive hand at him, but I didn’t want to hurt anybody. And with that realization, thoughts of revenge fizzled in my mind. So how did I fix things? “The problem is we have a mayor who doesn’t care what we want. How do we fight the system?” As I looked around my room, my eyes rested on my bookshelf. I had a copy of  _The_   _Adventures of Liam Payne_  sitting there, nestled among a few other novels Dad had put in my room. He had given me that one because it had been a favorite of mine when I was little. I had always loved the way Liam “Robin Hood” Payne  stood up to the Sheriff of Nottingham to help the op-pressed people.

I was only thinking out loud, trying to figure out a solution to my unhappiness. I spoke so quietly that Perrie shouldn’t have been able to hear it. “I wish Robin Hood were around today. He would know what to do.”

“Good choice,” Perrie said. “He’s totally hot.” She swept her wand in my direction and a flurry of sparkles surrounded me, hundreds of tiny lights zinging everywhere.

“Wait!” I sputtered.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she called, her voice sounding far away. “I wouldn’t let you meet him looking like that. I’ll throw in a free makeover.”

When the light cleared, she and Niall were gone. And there in my bedroom stood a dozen scraggly-looking men.

 


	4. Chapter 4

For a moment, I just stared at the men. They wore tunics and leggings, with bows and arrows slung over their shoulders. A couple were older, with gray in their hair and beards, but most were young with muscled arms and tanned faces. I guess I had never considered what a bunch of men who lived in the forest and never showered would smell like, but in the confines of my bedroom, the smell of sweat, dirt, and unwashed clothes hit me with nose-curling strength. I tried to breathe through my mouth.

The men looked around my room, drawing swords and knives, then turned to me with fierce expressions.

“Perrie!” I hissed, both panicked and elated—panicked because a dozen scary men were brandishing weapons, and elated because—talk about superstar sightings—Liam Payne and his Merry Men were in my bedroom.

Perrie didn’t come back.

“What devilry is this?” one of the men demanded.

“This has the look of magic to it,” another said.

Actually my room had the look of the JCPenney teen department.

Sandra decorated it before I moved in. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring you here,” I said, gulping. “There’s been a mistake.” A young man with short brown hair, a pointed green cap, and a dark green tunic stepped toward me, sizing me up. His features were round and flawlessly handsome. His eyes were brown in his tanned face. Perrie hadn’t been exaggerating when she said Liam “Robin Hood” Payne was hot.

His gaze ran over me, and he raised an eyebrow. I glanced at my reflection in my closet mirror to see what he was looking at. I wore a velvet green cape that swept around my ankles. My hair was swept in a careful messy fringe. No sign of tears or mascara streaks remained on my face. This apparently was Perrie’s idea of a makeover.

“Who are you?” Liam Payne asked, his voice cautious. “Why have you brought us hither?”

“I didn’t mean to.” I lifted my hands up to show them I didn’t have a weapon. “It was an accident. I’m trying to get her to come back and fix it.” I glanced around the corners of my ceiling, hoping Perrie might be floating around up there. “Perrie, this isn’t what I meant!” Liam Payne sheathed his sword and folded his arms, but the other men kept their swords and knives drawn, which made them seem more menacing than merry. A burly man with a thick brown beard stepped forward. He stood at least six and a half feet tall, towering over everyone else. Little John, I guessed. “Who be this Perrie you call for?”

I took a step back from him. He didn’t seem to have any concept of personal space. Or hygiene. “Perrie Edwards. She’s my fairy godmother.”

This caused a round of grumbling from the Merry Men. “I knew it was magic,” one of them growled, and then spat on my carpet.

“Hey,” I said. “You’re inside my bedroom. Don’t do that.” Liam Payne fixed me with a look. “And why, pray tell, did your fairy godmother bring us to your bedchamber?”

“Well, you see, I had a run-in with the police tonight.” When I didn’t see any recognition on Liam Payne’s face, I added, “The police work for the sheriff.”

“The sheriff!” another man snarled, and spat on my floor.

I could see it sitting there all gooey and gross. I turned to Liam Payne. “Would you please make your men stop spitting on my carpet?”

“What dost thou mean by a run-in?” Liam Payne asked.

I ignored the spit soaking into my carpet. I would clean it up later.

“Basically, it’s where they hauled me into their headquarters and threatened me.” And then, because I really wanted someone to understand what I’d been through, I told them about the whole ordeal with Nick and the officer who tricked me.

Liam Payne and his men listened intently, and when I’d finished, Liam Payne nodded. “I see.”

“Then while I was talking to my fairy godmother about it, I sort of wished that Liam Payne was around.”

“To give the sheriff bigger game to pursue?”

“No,” I said, blinking. “I wouldn’t have wished you into the twenty-first century for that.”

Little John’s jaw dropped open. “ _The twenty-first century_?” I shrugged apologetically. “It’s where I live.” The men turned their attention from me to my bedroom, examining it more closely. One used his sword to push the comforter off my bed, checking to see if it was hiding anything. Several others picked knickknacks off my dresser. They flipped through books, poked at my iPod, opened my drawers. Friar Tuck lifted a necklace out of my jewelry box.

“If you don’t mind,” I said, shutting my underwear drawer and standing in front of it, “this is my personal stuff. I don’t want anyone touching it.”

Little John pushed back my curtains and eyed the houses on the street with interest. “Robin, cast your eyes at those buildings. And behold the torches that light the road. They stand as tall as trees!”

Liam Payne strode over to the window while I tried to keep the Merry Men from tossing things they found uninteresting onto the floor. I was able to rescue my cell phone. My box full of nail polish wasn’t as lucky.

A man the others referred to as Will—I assumed Will Scarlet—took a book from my shelf, opened it, then held it upside down and shook it. His dark hair hung in greasy strands around his shoulders and his beard ended in a sharp point. “What odd, useless things you have in the future.”

I snatched the novel from his hand before he could drop it. “It’s a book, and that’s not how you treat it.” This is what happens when you’re raised by a librarian. Even though I had refused to read books for years, I still couldn’t stand to see one ruined. I reshelved it with a forceful thud. “Perrie,” I hissed toward the ceiling. “We really need to talk.” My giddy-fan feelings for Liam Payne were fading fast. These men didn’t belong here, and they had to go back before my dad or Sandra discovered them here.

A car passed by our house, and Liam Payne and Little John simultaneously gasped.

Little John leaned into the window until his nose touched the glass. “What strange manner of beast was that? Lights streamed from its face.”

“A car,” I said. “They’re one of the twenty-first century’s very useful things. They’re faster than horses and easier to take care of.” Liam Payne put one hand on the glass and peered farther down the street. “Are they friendly?”

“They’re not alive. They’re machines, like …” but I couldn’t think what machines they had back in the Middle Ages. “They’re tools.

When you turn the key, they start up so you can drive them down the street.”

Friar Tuck had finished going through my jewelry box and stuffed several rings and necklaces into the pockets of his robe. None of them were expensive, but still. “Hey, stop that,” I said walking over to him.

“You can’t take those.”

He smiled a nearly toothless grin. “I’m simply admiring them.”

“Well, admire them in my jewelry box, not in your pockets.” Another of the Merry Men had thrown open my closet and pulled out shirts. “Behold the finery,” he called to the others. “His wardrobe puts the king’s to shame.” And then he looked at me accusingly, as though I had been hoarding shirts.

“Everyone has a lot of clothes now,” I said, and went to take the hangers from his hand. “I’m not one of the rich, if that’s what you’re thinking. Far from it.”

Liam Payne still scanned the street. “Wench,” he called to me,

“how can I procure one of these cars?” Wench? “My name is Louis,” I said. “And will you please tell your men to stop pawing through my stuff?” Liam Payne glanced lazily around the room. He let out a bird whistle and the men grudgingly turned their attention to him. I winced. If Dad and Sandra heard weird noises coming from my room, they would come in. How was I going to explain the presence of a dozen smelly men dressed in ratty clothes and wielding swords?

“Unhand the wench’s things,” Liam Payne said. “I want to go forth and discover what the world has become. Who is with me?” The men let out a shout of agreement, still clutching shirts, knickknacks, and scented candles.

“Shhh,” I called to them. “My dad and stepmother are down the hallway.”

“How many men at arms be at your castle?” Little John asked.

I vaguely remembered from my reading days that men at arms were soldiers.

“This is a small house,” I told him. “Only my family lives here.” Will Scarlet took hold of my doorknob and opened the door a few inches. I nearly threw myself against it. “You can’t go out there. Someone will see you.”

Liam Payne gestured out the window to the neighbors’ homes.

“And the other buildings nearby, are they small houses as well?”

“Yes,” I said. “Mostly.”

Liam Payne and Little John exchanged a look and grinned. Liam Payne, unlike so many of his men, had straight, beautiful teeth. Still, his smile made me uneasy.

I stepped away from the door and held my hands out to Liam Payne, pleading. “Look, you need to stay put until I can get hold of my fairy godmother. She had a job interview to go to, which is probably why she’s not answering me, but that can’t take long. Then we’ll get this straightened out and she’ll send you back to your home. In the meantime, you need to be quiet.”

I had barely finished speaking when I heard Zayn at the door. He knocked then said, “Dad says to turn off your iPod and go to sleep.” I didn’t have my iPod on. “Okay,” I called back.

I hoped he would go away, but he opened the door instead. “What are you listening to anyway? It sounds like—” He stared at the occupants of the room with wide-eyed surprise and then took in my long cape and hair. His voice dropped to an indignant grumble. “You’re having a costume party in your bedroom? Aren’t you in enough trouble already?”

“It’s not what it looks like,” I said.

He rolled his eyes in disgust. “Whatever. It’s your life. Who am I to stop you from wrecking it?”

He shut the door harder than he needed to.

I turned back to Liam Payne. “That was my stepbrother, Zayn.”

“He bore no weapons,” Liam Payne said.

“People around here don’t carry weapons. It’s illegal, and it’s not polite either. Which reminds me, could you ask the Merry Men to sheath their swords?”

“The who?” Liam Payne asked.

“Your Merry Men,” I repeated. “That’s what history calls them.” Liam Payne chuckled at his men. “Did you hear that? History knows us, and thinks we are merry.”

“We’ve been called a far sight worse,” Friar Tuck said. He was standing by my jewelry box again.

Another man snorted. “I’d be merrier if I had a spot to eat.”

“I can get you food,” I said, then wondered what to serve them. In the movies, the Merry Men always ate fire-roasted rabbits and stuff like that. I would find something. “It will take me a few minutes,” I told Liam Payne. “Can you control your men until I get back?”

“Of course,” he said, like it was a ridiculous question.

As I put my hand on the doorknob, Liam Payne took hold of my elbow. “One question before you go. What does history say of me?” With his brown eyes staring down at me, and his hand touching my elbow, I felt like a giddy fan again. “You’re a hero. You robbed from the rich to give to the poor.”

“Ahh.” He nodded, processing this. “History has been kind.”

“I’ve got a book about you. You can have it if you want.” I went to my shelf and took down  _The Adventures of Liam Payne_. “My father read this to me when I was a little girl.” I put the novel in his hands and felt myself blush. “I’ve admired you for a long time.” One of the men laughed and in a low voice said, “As have many others.”

I hadn’t meant it like that, but there was no explaining that now.

Besides, Liam Payne had smiled when I said I admired him. He flipped open the book, first looking at the pictures, then the text.

“I’ll be back soon,” I said, then slipped out the door.

Down the hallway, Dad and Sandra’s door was shut. The TV blared from their room. They had probably turned it up in an effort to drown out my “iPod.” Good. I hoped that meant they would stay put. I took hold of my cape and lifted it so I could hurry down the hallway without tripping over it. If my parents saw me, they would wonder why I was wearing a long cape.

But I didn’t have a choice about my wardrobe right now. It was better to keep the men busy with food until Perrie came back.

I was microwaving chicken nuggets when I heard the crash. It was a familiar enough noise since I had already heard it twice that night—the sound of a window shattering. I left the kitchen and ran back to my room. When I opened the door, Little John pointed a sword at me and yelled, “Halt!”

I did, not because of the sword, but because of what the Merry Men were doing. They had not only broken my window; they’d laid my comforter across the remaining shards in the window frame and were proceeding to climb outside.

“What are you doing?” I walked over to them, hands in the air.

“Do you know how expensive windows are? You could have just opened it.”

Liam Payne sent me a half smile and bowed slightly. “Though we appreciate your hospitality, we must be on our way.” Friar Tuck heaved himself out of the window. I was so agitated I made little steps toward it, then toward Liam Payne, then back to the window. “You can’t leave. You have nowhere to go.”

Liam Payne remained unworried. “We shall live off the land. It is our way.”

“You’re in the middle of a neighborhood,” I protested. “There’s no land to live off of.” I motioned for the men outside to come in. Not only did they ignore me, but more climbed out. “You won’t find any deer,” I told them. “We don’t have wild animals roaming around unless you count stray cats.” The men kept going out the window without regarding me. As I watched them leave, frustration rose in my throat.

“Liam,” I said, “don’t go.”

He smiled and tucked one strand of my hair behind my ear. His voice took on a silky tone. “I regret I cannot stay and fulfill your wishes in that regard.”

His men chuckled, and a few made comments about my wishes.

I flushed in embarrassment.

“ ’Tis true your beau, Nick, has failed you,” Liam Payne said, stroking my cheek, “but I’m unready to stand up with any man not even a woman, even one as beautiful as yourself.”

“That wasn’t why I … I’m not …,” I sputtered. “Don’t you want to go back to Sherwood Forest?”

Liam Payne’s hand slid from my cheek to my shoulder. “You brought us to a new land—a fortuitous event, indeed. The sheriff’s men have death warrants on our heads, and they recently took to setting dogs on our trail. So, no, returning to Sherwood is not a pressing matter.” He took one of my hands in his, then lifted it to his lips and gave it a brief kiss. “And now I must bid you farewell.” After dropping my hand, he gestured to Little John. The big man left his place guarding my bedroom door and climbed out the window with more agility than I expected.

I blinked at Liam Payne, unbelieving. “But what about the poor villagers who depend on you?”

He laughed, which surprised me, then held up  _The Adventures of_   _Liam Payne_  for me to see. “You are as amusing as your history.” With the book still in his hand, he swung himself out the window and onto the rocks that bordered our lawn. The first few Merry Men were already running down the street.

I watched them disappear and sighed. I supposed they would come back when they realized what the world had become. They weren’t going to be able to forage for food. Once you left town, the only things around were cacti and a bunch of scrub brushes that were waiting to dry up and turn into tumbleweeds. I hoped the Merry Men’s survival skills would help them remember which house I lived in. That way, when they had second thoughts about living off the land, they would be able to find their way back.

I took some clothes into the bathroom and changed. Then I picked up the things the Merry Men had thrown around. Thankfully, most of the broken glass was on the outside of the window, so I didn’t have to clean up much of that.

I couldn’t even mutter angrily about them trashing my stuff. Not after I had just been to the police station for trashing city hall. Mr. Handsome Undercover Policeman would probably find it fitting that I was finishing up the night on my hands, wiping up spit from my carpet.

When I finished, I sat on my bed calling Perrie. No one showed up except for a few bugs that flew through the broken window. I shut my eyes to rest them, and the next thing I knew, it was Saturday morning.

• • •

Sandra opened my door and called out, “Rise and shine. Time to do your chores.” My dad usually woke me up on Saturday mornings, so the fact that Sandra had done it meant he was still mad at me. I was probably in for something horrendous like scraping pigeon poop off the roof.

I pulled the sheet over my head.

Sandra walked over and sat on my bed. “Come on, look on the bright side: today has to be better than yesterday.” Sandra was one of those optimistic people who not only saw the glass as half full, but figured it was half full of her favorite drink.

I tossed the sheet off and sat up—not from optimism, but because I suddenly remembered the rest of last night. My fairy godmother.

Liam Payne. I didn’t want Sandra to see my astonishment, so I tried to keep my expression calm.

She wasn’t looking at me though. Her gaze zeroed in on the gaping hole in my window and she let out a shrill gasp of alarm. “What happened?”

I didn’t think she’d believe me if I told her a bunch of Merry Men broke it. In fact, I wasn’t sure I believed it myself. Could that stuff have really happened? Fairies and leprechauns didn’t pop into people’s bedrooms. Liam Payne and the Merry Men weren’t real.

But nothing was left of my window except for jagged shards. That part was real enough.

I chose my words carefully. My lies might have magical consequences. “I was in the kitchen, and I heard a crash. When I got back to my room, the window was broken.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“It was late.”

She walked to the window, shaking her head. “You didn’t see who did it?”

“No.” Which was true. I didn’t know which of the Merry Men had shattered it.

“It must have been Nick.” Sandra’s jaw clamped tight. “Well, he can pay for this window along with the ones he broke at city hall. I’ll call his parents and tell them so.”

“Don’t,” I said. “I’ll pay for it.” I hardly had any money to my name. I would have to find a job. I supposed that didn’t matter, since I wasn’t going to have a social life now.

She put her hands on her hips, watching my curtain flutter in and out of the frame. “I’ll ask your father to put a board across it for now. I doubt anybody will be able to come out to fix it until Monday anyway.” Sandra left, muttering about Nick, and I stood in my room staring at the window. “Perrie?” I called.

No one came. Had she been a dream—the product of an over-stressed, overemotional brain? I walked to the closet tentatively. Last night I had hung up the long green cape. If it was still there, it would be proof I hadn’t imagined everything.

I opened the closet, but the hanger I’d put the cape on was bare. I flipped through every shirt, sweater, and jeans hanging there. No green cape. I threw up my hands. “It’s official. I’ve lost my mind.” That’s how the day started. It didn’t get any better.

My chore list included hauling everything out of the garage, sweeping it out, and hauling everything back. Then I had to clean the bathrooms, mop the floor, and do laundry. Every once in a while, I whispered, “Perrie?”

No twinkling lights erupted anywhere. I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. The more the day wore on, the easier it was to convince myself none of the magical things had happened. I had dreamed it all.

Dad and Zayn spent the day doing landscaping and painting the trim on the house, fixing it up for when we had to put it on the market.

Zayn had the radio on and sang along, but Dad worked with a stern expression, his eyes hard as stone.

Fine, I told myself. Let him think about what a disappointment I’ve turned out to be. He had chalked up a lot of points in the disappointment category himself.

It wasn’t until eight o’ clock that night when I was putting away my clean clothes that I saw the pathetic-o-meter sitting on my dresser.

I had completely forgotten about it, and I dropped the clothes on the floor and stared at the disk. The blue area had grown, and a new sentence read:  _Thinks criminals are cool. 82 percent pathetic._

I did not think criminals were cool, but that was beside the point.

I hadn’t dreamed the pathetic-o-meter into existence. It was real. And a fairy had given it to me.

Granted, the cape had disappeared, but then, Cinderella’s dress had disappeared at midnight. So maybe fairy fashions just did that.

Still only half believing in my sanity, I picked up the pathetic-o-meter, walked to Zayn’s bedroom, and knocked. He opened the door.

He wore a T-shirt that had pi written on it down to a thousand digits, but thanks to today’s chores, a lot of them were now paint splotches.

I held the disk out to him. “You can see this, right?” He squinted at my hand. “You think criminals are cool? Well, then it’s not surprising that you’re eighty-two percent pathetic.”

“Did you see me wearing a long green cape last night? And there were a bunch of medieval men in my room?”

“Yeah, where did you find those guys anyway? They made Nick look downright normal.”

I stepped into Zayn’s room, shut the door, and leaned against it. I wasn’t sure whether to be happy or horrified about what had happened. “I  _really_  have a fairy godmother.”

Zayn gazed at me, unimpressed with this pronouncement. “If you’re not careful you’ll  _really_  have a parole officer too.” He waved a hand in my direction. “Are you purposely seeking out every criminal you can find? Was there some sort of membership drive at the police station?”

Liam Payne and the Merry Men were real. And that meant they were out wandering around Rock Canyon somewhere. “This is going to be a problem.” I put my hand against my chest, trying to stop my panic from spreading. “I accidentally wished Liam “Robin Hood” Payne and his Merry Men here. I need to find them.”

“Yeah,” he said, “you and every police officer in town.”

 


	5. Chapter Five

_You and every police officer in town?_

That was not a good sentence to hear Zayn say. I clutched the pathetic-o-meter so hard its edges cut into my palm. “Why would the police be looking for them?”

Zayn crossed his arms, which were paint splattered too. “Haven’t you listened to the news today?”

I had only listened to my iPod. I shook my head. “What happened?”

Zayn walked over to his computer. “I’m sure it’s on the Internet by now.” He clicked a few links and then a newscaster popped up on the screen. She had a cheerful expression even though she spent most of her time doling out information about disasters.

“The usually uneventful town of Rock Canyon is experiencing a bizarre crime wave today. A gang wearing medieval garb carjacked a pickup truck, then robbed a Pizza Hut and two gas stations at sword-point.” The screen switched to a grainy surveillance tape that showed Liam Payne flanked by most of his men. He walked up to the checkout counter and drew his sword while his men went along the aisles emptying things into their sacks. They grabbed whatever was on the shelves—candy bars, chips, and lots of AA batteries. I had no idea what they were going to do with those. It was really too bad they didn’t hit a deodorant or soap aisle.

The surveillance tape ended and the screen went to a reporter, who stood next to the store clerk. He was a scruffy, overweight college-aged guy with spiky hair and a goatee.

“Can you describe the attack?” the reporter asked.

The clerk leaned close to the microphone. “It was freaky. Sort of like a bunch of Renaissance festival actors turned bad. First the head dude asked for our gold and silver. When I told him we didn’t stock that, he said to hand over my jewelry.” The clerk shrugged. “I don’t wear any jewelry except my nose ring, and I never thought anybody would want to steal that, but I gave it to him. Then the dude asked for money. I opened the cash register drawer and tried to give them the twenties, but they threw those aside and demanded the coins.” The clerk scratched behind his ear. “They made off with about four dollars in change.”

That didn’t make sense until I remembered that paper money didn’t exist in the Middle Ages.

On the screen, the newscaster smiled sympathetically. “Unfortunately the robbers caused more than four dollars’ worth of damage to the store, didn’t they?”

The clerk nodded. “Yeah—while they were swiping things off the shelves, one of them tried to yank the hot dog warmer off the counter.

When that didn’t work, he hit the glass with the back of his sword and busted in the side.” The clerk shrugged again. “Not what I would call smart thieves.”

“They’re certainly a danger to our community though,” the reporter said brightly. “Anyone with information about these crimes is urged to call the anonymous tip hotline.”

I sat down with a thunk on Zayn’s bed. A tight ball of dread bounced around inside me. “This is awful.”

“I didn’t call the hotline,” Zayn said, turning so he faced me. “At least not yet. It might push your dad over the edge if he knew you were friends with those guys too.”

I stared at the computer. It didn’t make sense. “They were only supposed to rob from the rich.”

Zayn’s eyes narrowed on me. “I get the whole teenage rebellion stuff to a point. You’re mad that your dad left your family. I felt the same way when my parents split.” He held up one hand to emphasize his point. “But instead of dealing with it, you want to drive everyone crazy.”

I pressed my arms over my stomach as if this could keep it from hurting. “The books, the movies—they all said Liam Payne was a good guy.”

Zayn looked up at the ceiling, contemplating. “What happened the first time you came out for a visit? Oh yeah, that’s when you pretended to be anorexic and wouldn’t eat anything.” The accusation momentarily snapped my mind off of Liam Payne. “I wasn’t pretending to be anorexic. Your mom was going through a tofu and bean recipe craze.”

“And the second time you came, you had that tattoo of snakes coiling down your arm.”

“It was just henna,” I said. “It washed off.” Zayn leaned against his dresser. “Yeah, but you didn’t tell your dad that. You stepped off the plane and said, ‘How do you like my new tattoo? My boyfriend and I got matching ones.’ ”

“If my dad had called and talked to me at all beforehand, he would have known I was joking. I didn’t have a boyfriend at the time.” Zayn drummed his fingers against the top of his dresser. “And since it wasn’t enough to have a fake idiot boyfriend, the first thing you did when you moved here was date Zayn, the genuine article.” That was the thing about Zayn. He thought my dad was great, so he was bound to take his side on everything.

“You’re a smart boy.” Zayn waved his hand at me like it was an accusation. “You get As in math and physics, but what is your grade in English?”

I didn’t answer. He knew as well as I did that I had pulled nothing but Ds in English since my dad left us. It went along with my refusing to read books. I wasn’t about to excel in anything Dad loved.

“And now you claim to have conjured up Liam “Robin Hood” Payne from the past,” Zayn went on. “I admit I don’t quite see the angle on this one.

How is this supposed to make your dad nuts?” Liam Payne. The reference brought my mind back to the problem at hand. I stood up. “I’ve got to get ahold of my fairy godmother.” She would be able to put a stop to this medieval crime spree. “Perrie!” I looked for an eruption of sparkles, but nothing happened. “Perrie Edwards!” I called.

Still nothing.

“Niall?” I asked, remembering the leprechaun’s name. No one appeared in the room.

Zayn pressed his lips together, still questioning me. “Great fairy godmother you’ve got.”

Niall had said she was only fair. I was beginning to see his point.

“Well,” I said, “this means I’ve got to find Liam Payne myself. He thinks we have poor villagers who need his help. He’s probably out somewhere wondering why no one is thrilled to be the recipient of Nickels, pennies, and a used nose ring.” Zayn went through the stack of clean laundry on his dresser, putting some socks into a drawer. “Your dad isn’t going to let you go anywhere for a long time.”

“Then I’ll have to sneak out. This is important.” Zayn let out an overlong “Ohhh …” as he turned back to me. “Now I get the whole Liam Payne angle. You have to sneak out to stop the Merry Men.” He picked up his jeans and put them into one of the drawers. “You’re creative, I’ll give you that. And you have a really impressive knack for getting guys to take revenge for you. First Zayn vandalized city hall, and now the Liam Payne dude is messing with the police. But as your little Frisbee there says, you think criminals are cool.” Zayn shoved his T-shirts into another drawer. “I bet the city council totally wishes they hadn’t ticked you off now.” I didn’t appreciate his sarcasm, but what could I say? He didn’t believe me about the magical stuff, and the only proof I had was a pathetic-o-meter. “You won’t tell on me when I sneak out, will you?” I asked.

He grunted. “I’m not going to mess with you. You might set your battalion of evil boyfriends on me.”

“Thanks,” I said, and walked out of his room.

It wasn’t hard to sneak out. I went to my room and turned on my music loud enough so it seemed like I was in there, but not loud enough that my dad or Sandra would knock on the door and demand I turn it down. I didn’t know what to take with me, so I slung a messenger bag over my shoulder and put my cell phone, wallet, and the pathetic-o-meter inside. Since it was magic, I vaguely hoped it would be able to do something to help me, like contact my fairy godmother if my pathetic reading went high enough. At any rate, I didn’t want my dad to find it in my room. He would not be cheered by its pronouncement that I think criminals are cool.

Dad had bought a sheet of plywood and leaned it against my window. It moved easily enough, and I slipped outside into the warm September night. I went around to the side door of the garage. I couldn’t take one of the cars. I had grown up in New York with its sub-way systems, so I didn’t know how to drive very well. This left a bike as my only means of transportation. Bike riding isn’t the fastest way to track people, and it was probably a hopeless venture from the start, but I had to at least try to find Liam Payne and his men. I had brought them here, and if I didn’t explain things to them, they would keep robbing people, and someone would get hurt.

I set out through the neighborhood, peering at people’s lawns as I rode by. Would Liam Payne try to find a place like Sherwood Forest?

We didn’t have any forests around, but a lot of trees grew in yards.

Maybe the men had climbed some and were hiding there. I looked up at every tree I passed but I didn’t see them. Maybe they had found a deserted building. I headed toward the center of town, riding through street after street, searching for any sort of clue.

Everything seemed normal.

Navigating around downtown was hard. Cars zipped past me impatiently, driving by so closely that I kept jerking away from them.

After a while, I headed into another neighborhood. There was nothing unusual there either, except for me, riding aimlessly around in the dark. I was getting tired. I stopped my bike to rest and took the pathetic-o-meter out of my bag. “Look,” I told it, “I need to find Liam Payne before he runs somebody through with a sword or the police shoot him. Can you help me?”

As I watched, the lettering changed on the dial. I held my breath, thrilled for the magical help, until I read the new sentence:  _Talks to inanimate objects_.

I was now 83 percent pathetic.

“Great,” I said. “Just great.” I shoved the pathetic-o-meter back into my bag. “See if I ever speak to you again.” I didn’t check to see if yelling at inanimate objects had made the pathetic-o-meter go up. I might as well head home. I didn’t have the stamina to keep pedaling for much longer.

I rode back to town sullenly, mumbling Perrie’s name every once in a while. I wasn’t sure how her job interview as a muse had gone, but she certainly wasn’t inspiring anything but stomach ulcers for me.

As I passed a Walgreens I saw them. I was so used to looking up in the trees that I scanned the roof without thinking about it. One of the Merry Men lay up there, bow drawn back, ready to shoot anyone who threatened him. My gaze dropped to the parking lot. There, crouched among the parked cars and moving in, was Liam Payne and the rest of his men. He should have looked ridiculous—a guy in a tunic squatting behind a parked car—but somehow with his muscular frame and handsome features, the tunic thing worked.

I rode my bike slowly up to them. “Liam!” I whispered.

He turned and saw me. “Not now, wench, we’re about to liberate some wealth from the gentry.”

I climbed off of my bike and wheeled it over to him. “My name is Louis, and you can’t hold up this store.” He raised an unimpressed eyebrow in my direction. “I read your Liam Payne book, but I refuse to believe it.”

“Yeah, well, I’m having my doubts about it too.”

“It says I die because a nun poisons me. A nun.” I had forgotten about that, but he glared at me as though I had written it into the book myself. “So avoid nuns from now on. They’re easy enough to spot—long black dresses and wimples. Very few of them sneak up on people.”

He went back to staking out the parking lot. “Traitors,” he said with disgust. I wasn’t sure whether he was referring to me or nuns.

I lowered my voice. “We need to talk. You see, you don’t need to rob anyone here. We have agencies that take care of the poor, and if you keep holding places up, someone will get hurt.” He didn’t look at me. He waved at some of the men, and they ran forward, still crouching and darting between cars. “Never worry, no harm shall come to me. I am more than a match for the menfolk here. My arms will remain unbound and will hold you in their embrace soon enough, just as you wished.”

Several of the men chuckled knowingly at that.

My cheeks burned from embarrassment, but I kept my voice even.

“I’m not worried about  _you_ —I don’t want you to injure anybody  _else_.

You’re attacking people who don’t carry weapons.”

“Such foolishness is astounding,” he said. “But a fool and his money are soon parted. Our swords only speed the process.” The first two of Liam Payne’s men had reached the Walgreens’ front entrance. They pressed themselves against either side of the door, looking inside.

“Liam, this isn’t stealing from the rich and giving to the poor; this is just stealing.”

Liam Payne glanced at the building behind us, a Laundromat. On the top of it, a Merry Man lay on his stomach, a bow in his hands. “Ah, but you’re wrong. Everyone here is rich, and my men and I are poor. It’s fitting we should relieve your village folk of some of their goods.” He motioned to the men nearest him, and then he and the men left their hiding places and sprinted toward the store doors.

They timed their surge wrong, piling up at the entrance, and had to wait for the automatic door to open all the way before they rushed inside.

I leaned my bike against a car and strode after them. When I walked into the store, Liam Payne already had his sword drawn and held it only inches away from a startled store clerk. He was a thin teenage boy who’d gone completely pale. The Merry Men walked along the aisles, dumping things into their sacks. A small group of shoppers were lined up, hands in the air, by the photo counter.

Maybe some stories have more sway than fact. Maybe they carve themselves into our minds and slant the way we see things. Because even then, I saw Liam Payne as a hero, as someone who cared about right and wrong. I marched over and tried one more time to make him understand. “You’ve got to stop. This is wrong.” Liam Payne didn’t take his eyes off the clerk. The muscles in his arm flexed. “Hold your tongue, wench. I asked not for your blessing.” He moved his sword tip close to the clerk. “Your jewelry, my good man, hand it over forthwith.”

The teenage boy held his hands up higher. “I don’t have any jewelry,” he croaked.

I took a step closer to Liam Payne, frustration banging around inside of me. “You were supposed to be the good guy, the defender of the common people. But you’re not—you’re terrorizing innocent shoppers.”

“Your beauty notwithstanding,” Liam Payne said, glancing at me for a moment before he turned his attention back to the clerk, “you had best hold your tongue before I’m tempted to hold it on the blade of my sword.”

I let out an incredulous gasp. “You’re threatening me?” Friar Tuck snorted as he dumped a box of Snickers into his bag.

“The boy is quick-witted as well as beautiful.” I opened my mouth to say more, but someone took hold of my arm and yanked me sideways. I turned, expecting to see one of the Merry Men. Instead Mr. Handsome Undercover Policeman had a hold on me. In his jeans and T-shirt, he had blended in with the rest of the shoppers who stood over at the photo counter, and I hadn’t seen him before. The police guy towed me over to the counter, keeping his gaze not on me but on Little John, who stood nearby. He held a sword loosely in our direction while he walked along an aisle, shoving Doritos into his bag.

I hated that I noticed, at a moment like this, that the hot police guy was every bit as tall and good-looking as I’d remembered. He was probably six foot two. His curly brown hair looked mussed, and his deep green eyes were intent, serious.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“I’m being held up like everyone else, and I suggest you leave the crazy men alone.”

That’s when the reality of the situation hit me. I was as powerless to stop Liam Payne as everyone else who was being held at sword-point. “This can’t be happening,” I said numbly.

The police guy’s gaze slid over me. “You’re brave; I’ll give you that. But right now it’s better to stay still. I know these guys’ MO.

They’ll take a few things and go. There’s nothing here worth risking your life for.”

Of course he knew their MO—modus operandi, or method of operation—the police had studied the surveillance tapes. They’d been searching for these men. I noticed an open cell phone lying on the disposable cameras behind us. I whispered, “You called the police, didn’t you?”

“Everything will be okay,” he said.

Two older ladies dressed in polyester outfits stood by my side.

One of them whimpered, and the other pressed her lips together in an angry grimace. Next to them, a teenage girl shivered. She was blinking back tears.

Everything would not be okay. I was already processing the outcome. Liam Payne and his men had never seen firearms. They wouldn’t care when the police pointed guns in their direction. Liam Payne wouldn’t listen when the police told them to drop their swords.

And the police wouldn’t expect archers on the tops of buildings. Even if the police somehow did capture the entire group of Merry Men without bloodshed, what could Liam Payne tell them that would make sense? And what would happen when the Merry Men told detectives that I had brought them to Rock Canyon?

The police were probably not going to be particularly understanding about that part.

Liam Payne and Friar Tuck strolled up. Liam Payne smirked at us. “Now, if you good folk would be so gracious as to take off your jewelry and any coin you have on you. Put them in the good friar’s sack and we’ll be much obliged.”

Friar Tuck held out a rough-hewn sack to the girl. From the look of it, they had brought the sacks with them from the Middle Ages. It figured. They must travel with them. After all, you never know when you’re going to meet someone you want to rob.

The teenage girl pulled off two earrings shaped like ice cream cones. She dropped these and a pinkie ring into the sack, then pressed herself as far away from the men as she could get. Friar Tuck turned to the older ladies. The first trembled as she put her wallet into the sack.

The second sneered. “You remind me of my ex-husband, except he didn’t smell quite as bad.”

“I’m flattered, I’m sure,” Friar Tuck said, then pointed to their rings. “We require those lovelies as well.” As the first woman tugged off her rings, I turned to Liam Payne, pleading, “You shouldn’t take their wedding rings. They have sentimental value.”

He laid his hand against his chest. “And I assure you they will have sentimental value to me as well.” I glared at him, but didn’t argue anymore.

Next to me, the hot guy took off his watch and a class ring. I barely noticed it was Rock Canyon High’s color—bright blue—before he dropped it in the sack.

I pulled off the one piece of jewelry I wore, an opal ring my mother had given me when I turned sixteen. It also had sentimental value, but it was pointless to bring that up.

This was such my luck. I was being robbed by the guy I had wished here.

Liam Payne held out his hand for my ring. I dropped it in his palm, but instead of putting it into the bag, he took hold of my hand and slipped it back onto my finger. “Your ring is not what I will steal from you.” Still holding onto my hand, he slowly pulled me into an embrace. I looked up to ask what he was doing, and as our eyes met, he bent down and kissed me.

As soon as his lips touched mine, I put my hands on his chest to push him away. It was like pushing a wall. He was much stronger than me, and after a few moments, I quit struggling and let him kiss me. I figured once he made his point, he would stop.

He didn’t.

History had never mentioned that Liam Payne was an exceptional kisser, but it should have. It was clearly one of his more impressive talents. I might have enjoyed the kiss if he weren’t an outlaw and if I hadn’t been in the middle of a hold-up in Walgreens. Even as it was, when he lifted his head from mine, I felt breathless.

Will Scarlet walked up to us. “Robin,” he said with exasperation.

Liam Payne didn’t let me go. He stared into my eyes, his smirk back again. His fingers made a slow trail down my back. “I suppose yours was not such a bad wish after all.” He bent his head to kiss me again, but the break was enough to restore my sanity. This had to end.

“The police—the sheriff’s men—they’re on their way,” I said.

Liam Payne stiffened, then dropped his hands away from me.

“Are they?” He didn’t ask how I knew, just stepped away and whistled to his men. “We best be off. The law is on our trail.”

Most of the men flung their sacks over their shoulders and fled out of the door. With his sword still drawn, Will backed away from us.

When he was far enough away, he turned and ran to the door as well.

Liam Payne was the last one out. Before he left, he winked at me and said, “Until we meet again, fair Louis.” Then he was gone.

The woman beside me put a hand over her chest and let out a stream of words that was too jumbled to understand. The other woman leaned against the counter, taking deep breaths. The teenage girl pulled her cell phone from her pocket with shuddering hands and dialed someone. The hot police guy turned to me, unshaken. He put his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes. “You warned that thug the police were coming.”

I flushed. I couldn’t explain. “It was the best line I could think of to discourage him from a make-out session.”

“Well, judging from your last boyfriend, I can see why that line would pop into your mind first. But to tell you the truth, you didn’t look like you minded the make-out session all that much.”

“I didn’t have a choice about kissing him,” I said. “He had a sword.”

“He knew your name,” the guy said. “Why is that?” I refused to let him ruffle me. “It’s a small town. Apparently everybody knows my name. Even random police detectives.” I turned toward the door. He reached out and grabbed my arm.

His grip was firm, but not tight. “You need to stay to make a statement for the police. And we all need to file reports about what the robbers stole from us.”

“I don’t,” I said. “He only stole a kiss from me, and I don’t want it returned.”

The guy’s dark green eyes turned piercing. “Louis, you need to stay and talk to the police.”

I pulled my arm away from him. “I think we’ve already established that I don’t like talking to the police.”

“It will look worse if you leave,” he said.

“No, it will look worse if my father has to come down to the police station two nights in a row to pick me up.” I walked out the door without looking back at him.

• • •

I don’t know why I thought Mr. Hot Police Officer would keep my name out of it. When I got home, a police car was parked in front of my house. I should have stayed at the Walgreens and saved myself the bike trip back. My thighs burned from all of the pedaling. I groaned and leaned my bike up against the side of the house. An officer sat in the car. He reported something into his car radio, then climbed out and followed me up the walkway.

When I got inside, my parents and another officer were standing in the living room talking. My father’s face was taut with anger, his hands clenched into fists. He spoke to me, shooting each word out sharp and whole. “You were grounded. You were supposed to stay in your room.”

I couldn’t very well tell him I had been out trying to stop Liam Payne from plundering the city. I also couldn’t tell him, with the police officers staring at me, that my fairy godmother had zapped them here on my command. “Sorry,” I said.

He waited for me to say more. I didn’t. It was pathetically lacking as an apology, but I didn’t know how to spruce it up without ending up in a padded cell.

The younger of the two police officers stepped forward. His red hair had been cropped short in what was nearly a crew cut. He held up a clipboard to take notes and regarded me suspiciously. “You were at the Walgreens that was held up?”

I nodded.

“Do you have any idea where the criminals are now?”

“No.”

“Have you ever seen them before?”

I nearly told them no, then remembered Perrie’s warning that I couldn’t lie or lights would go off around me announcing the fact. It would be hard to explain that sort of thing right now. “I saw them on the news earlier today,” I said. It was, after all, the truth.

“Why did the men know your name?”

“I ran into them in the parking lot before they went inside, and I told them my name.” Also the truth.

The police officer raised an unbelieving eyebrow at me. “You saw a bunch of men you knew were dangerous criminals, and you went up to them in a parking lot and told them your name?”

“I was trying to convince them not to rob the Walgreens,” I said.

“Uh-huh.” The police officer pursed his lips, and I could tell this wasn’t going well. “We’ll need you to come down to the station so we can get a formal statement.”

Perrie was right. Telling the truth was way overrated.

I shook my head. “I’m not going with you.” Sandra said, “Louis, I think—”

I wouldn’t let her finish. I’d had enough of the police. “I’m not saying anything else. It isn’t illegal to talk to people in a parking lot, so they can’t arrest me for that. I didn’t do anything wrong tonight.” The older officer crossed his arms. “Maybe you folks need to have a talk with your daughter about cooperation and then get back to us.” He sent me a slow, intimidating stare. “Armed robbery is a felony. This isn’t a game, young boy.”

The officers turned and went to the door. Sandra followed them, apologizing for my behavior, telling them I normally wasn’t like this.

“Our family is going through a hard time right now,” she said.

My father didn’t move. He shook his head as though answering some question only he heard. “You didn’t do anything wrong tonight?”

“I’m sorry,” I said again.

“You were grounded and you went out consorting with criminals.” I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure what consorting meant. Maybe it was time I started reading again. My vocabulary needed some refreshing.

“I don’t even know who you are,” my dad went on. He said the words quietly, but so forcefully it felt like he’d yelled them. “Just go to your room.”

I turned and walked down the hallway. He was right. He didn’t know who I was.


End file.
